Her Patchwork Heart
by Rianne
Summary: All the little moments that piece together to show Temperance Brennan what love is.
1. Chapter 1

Thank you to all those who have read and reviewed my previous attempts, been so caught up with watching the show that I haven't had time to write! At the moment my Bones and Booth are hovering on the edge of Pelant, I've just begun season 8...

This story however is set around the end of season six, which I am sure is beloved for many. Me included.

Slight spoiler for 9x06 The Woman In White in Piece Twelve.

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><p><span>Her Patchwork Heart<span>

_By Rianne_

_Piece One._

She only recognised the sheer magnitude of the moment much later.

Two wounded souls meeting gaze across a busy lecture theatre.

He talked of fate, and she her dismissal of such notions.

Already clashing, already sparring.

Already something was aware.

Both dismissed it as the first sparkle of lust.

Interest, attraction.

They had felt that before.

There was work to be done.

* * *

><p><em>Piece Two.<em>

Came a little later. But only a matter of days.

Floating on a sea of tequila and flirtatious smiles.

A glimmering light in the eyes.

An admission of ancestry and a curious notion warming inside as the distance between them evaporated.

Then, a kiss no longer resisted.

Tumbled into, sweet and sensual.

Time slowing down.

Her heart had trembled.

The flood of responses new.

His pre-kiss words, that this felt like something was starting, setting faint alarm bells jangling.

But he had accepted her sudden change of mind with easy grace, and a longing look.

It had been easier to dash away.

The following confusion had been harder to dismiss.

* * *

><p><em>Piece Three.<em>

A discovery of an interest shared.

One beyond the work that they did.

Music.

His interest in her CD collection had left her uncomfortably vulnerable and exposed.

A secret vice. Hundreds of CD's, one item she did not usually restrain herself in purchasing.

The music brought her joy.

But dancing with Booth, in her own living room...

Blood hot and pounding through her veins.

Letting free the delight, the guilty pleasure found in air guitar.

More joy than she had felt in a long time.

In that moment he became friend.

Nearly died as a consequence.

* * *

><p><em>Piece Four.<em>

Had fallen when she had seen his x-rays.

Already feeling uncomfortably raw after the shock of the explosion.

Anxiously waiting for him to awaken. Twitching fingers unable to rest until they assessed the effects of the blast.

She had been stunned.

The extent of the marks visible on the bone.

Her fingers tracing the remodelled damage.

Clearly reading each break and fracture, flinching at the knowledge of the force with which each blow would have been dealt.

A legacy of war.

But the older breaks hurt more.

Twists to little arms, blows of adult force.

She had been aware of intruding, apologetic once he awoke, and she saw the fear in his eyes at her discoveries.

It was the first moment she not only felt, but understood his hurt.

* * *

><p><em>Piece Five.<em>

Arriving later in the same case, in the form of a rescue.

From a fear so raw it was nothing but terror.

Strung up, bound, ready to be slashed and eaten by dogs.

Her brain had told her that he could not possibly be coming for her.

He was injured, in the hospital, recovering from the blast meant for her.

Yet something new inside her had hoped.

Had hoped as she had only for her parent's reappearance before.

A need for this not to be the end. A desire for more.

His appearance had nearly stopped her heart.

He had shot another person.

A colleague of his.

She had only thought of that later.

In the moment there was only him.

Falling to his knees before her.

Eyes huge and dark.

His every movement heavy with pain.

It was the first time he had struggled, but not the first time he had been strong for her.

Falling into the warmth of his arms had been blissful relief.

To feel his heartbeat, his struggled breath, the heat of a single tear escape before he smothered it into her hair.

Her weight carried, in more ways than one.

Until an awareness of his injuries had leapt to her conscious, and she pulled away, but the mirroring need in his eyes had returned her to his embrace.

But with gentler grip.

She had forgotten what it was to be safe.

* * *

><p><em>Piece Six.<em>

Had been in reaching out to him.

Like he so often did to her.

An offer of understanding. The promise to listen to words that unburdened.

Forgiveness in the gentle hand placed on his arm.

Good advice, gladly received from Angela.

To a moment changed at the firm, warm feel of his palm clasping back.

To the pleasant and slightly confused realisation that somehow her simple gesture had in fact helped.

* * *

><p><em>Piece Seven.<em>

Was the moment he became her anchor.

Her mother's face in the Angelator.

A truth finally revealed.

He was the constant by her side.

At the very moment the earth beneath her shifted and all she knew was pulled into question.

His simple words, "I know who you are," as the floodgates opened.

Solid, strong, yet murmured so gently into her hair.

Joy?

Temperance?

She was still Bones.

* * *

><p><em>Piece Eight.<em>

Was a gesture she made in secret.

She dedicated her book to him.

To my friend and partner.

* * *

><p><em>Piece Nine.<em>

Was the first time she killed another human being.

A moment of frozen terror. Racing adrenaline.

A need to protect Booth uppermost.

Then after the night had stilled and she had hovered alone in the safe haven of the Lab, he had come.

To give her the chance to talk out the fear, with someone who knew.

Someone who shared the burden.

Who observed her tears with understanding silence.

Who brought a lingering moment of sweetness.

A gift in the form of a miniature plastic pig. Jasper.

He had listened to her, remembered her passing comment about her long forgotten desire for a pet.

In one gesture reminding her that he knew her caring nature.

How much compassion she felt, whether she showed it the world or not.

He saw.

* * *

><p><em>Piece Ten.<em>

Bestowed in the form of a stray compliment.

One not intentionally bestowed at first.

The end of a case. A selection of leftover, mostly stale doughnuts, a poor feast for champions.

A murmured disbelief from her, just spoken in passing conversation, about the way women sometimes did things so drastic to alter their appearance.

From him, a scoff, and the notion that of course she did not understand.

She had known instantly what he was implying, but it was a surprise.

The new knowledge causing blushing heat in her cheeks, making her uncharacteristically coy.

But she could not resist prompting him for clarification.

She did not doubt that others found her attractive, but he had never openly acknowledged that he thought that way about her.

"Well structured."

Charming man, a very Booth way to say he thought she was, as Angela termed it, "hot."

That he appreciated her body and her mind.

But she felt pretty under his warm gaze, as he moved closer, tempting her with the spicy delights of Thai food.

Suddenly a long night of paperwork hadn't sounded so bad.

* * *

><p><em>Piece Eleven.<em>

Had been a confirmation of sorts.

A step outside herself.

A sweet reminder of the old films she used to watch with her father.

Stepping from the hotel bathroom a whole new woman.

Roxy.

In a dress he had chosen for her.

One that had fitted like a glove.

One that had provoked him to slack jawed silence.

She felt sexy.

Aware of every curve and sleek line she possessed.

Red fingernails, red lipstick, smoky eyes.

She allowed him to slide her zipper into place.

The pads of his fingertips grazing her skin.

Shimmering with all kinds of heat.

Pretending to concentrate on the call to Cam and to ignore the breathy word which escaped him, and stirred more than her fussed hair.

'Hot.'

One syllable so full of admiration, so full of confirmation.

No one believed her hot in Vegas explanation.

Until she started moaning into his ear about sweat, squeezing his chest and arms more than she should.

Calling him 'Her Man.'

Loosely committed indeed.

Maybe they had enjoyed this little debacle more than they really should.

His hand on her ass, stuttering her brilliant mind.

And beginners luck had saved him.

From being beaten to a complete pulp.

It was ridiculous, and she still would not swear that she believed in it, but it had been worth a try.

* * *

><p><em>Piece Twelve.<em>

A fragment unseen. But carefully saved.

A prompt from Hodgins, her friend.

That there must be someone she needed to leave a message for.

Her friend had not provided the name, but he knew as well as she.

Words scribbled in the light of her emergency flash.

Written in what was thought the very last moments.

_Dear Agent Booth... _

_You are a confusing man. You are irrational and impulsive, superstitious and exasperating. _

_You believe in ghosts, angels, and maybe even Santa Claus._

_How is it possible that simply looking into your fine face gives me so much joy?_

_Why does it make me so happy that every time I try to sneak a peek at you, you're already looking at me?_

_Like you, it makes no sense, and like you it feels right._

_If I ever get out of here, I will find a time and a place to tell you that you make my life messy, and confusing, and unfocussed, and irrational, and wonderful._

The only words she knew how to say.

A pale insignificance.

The desperate desire of a woman trapped beneath the earth as time ran out.

A woman who did have faith, if only in one man.

The man who saved her.

To Be Continued...


	2. Chapter 2

I spent some time looking over the next few years of the show for the moments... there are a LOT of moments! Many, many more than I had anticipated! I think that is the reason I love this show so much!

Thank you to all those who read chapter one! Thank you to JSBonesLover for the review - there are a few more words this time!

Her Patchwork Heart

By Rianne.

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><p><strong><span><em>Chapter Two.<em>**

_Piece Thirteen._

Was anything but unlucky.

He did save her.

And Hodgins.

They all did.

No one gave up hope.

'What you have is faith, Baby.'

She disliked Hodgins' turn of phrase.

But, she did.

Not in some ephemeral higher being. Something rationally impossible.

But in those she knew. Those she secretly held dear.

Like Booth.

She had seen what Booth could do.

The gravedigger, anonymous, spectral, and deadly had lost for the very first time.

Messed with the wrong team of Squints, Anthropologists, Entomologist, Computer Genius and FBI Guy.

Outsmarted by the very best.

'Dr. Brennan, it's been a privilege.'

Meaningful last words. Their tears freefalling.

Her friend clasped tight in her arms in the dying green glow from her flashlight.

Then two wires, held by two brave souls.

Connected.

It had been enough just to breathe as her makeshift explosion had detonated.

Her lungs burning. Dust and smoke everywhere, thick and obscuring.

Lack of oxygen had made her limbs feel heavy.

Yet, she had fought.

She had clawed towards freedom, trying to keep a hold of Hodgins' arm.

Until two hands had closed tight around hers.

Shouldering her burden.

His strong arms dragging her up from the depths of gravel canyon hell.

The power in his body making her feel weightless.

The ground fighting not to release her, the residual suction from shifting gravel, trying to drag her back down.

But he encircled her. Holding her to his chest. Gaining strength.

Groaning, and panting as he freed her.

His heart wild.

His frown deep.

Her limbs weak.

'Get Hodgins,' she had managed to whisper.

Aware that there was Cam and Zack and Angela with him too.

He left her for a moment to help dig.

She had made it upright as they dragged Hodgins from the earth.

She had swayed, seen Angela's gentle kiss grace Hodgins' dusty lips.

Had wondered.

And Booth had come back.

Crawling beside her in the dirt.

Collapsing, watching the joy in Angela and Zack's faces for just a moment.

Before they found one another again.

The look in his eyes, made her smile take flight.

Face smeared with dirt, he was the best thing she had ever seen.

Hodgins was safe.

She was safe.

Then he smiled, nearly laughed, hysteria bubbling just beneath the surface, but their gaze spoke volumes.

Probably more than the scrawled words on the little folded piece of paper hidden in the curve of her bra.

* * *

><p><em>Piece Fourteen.<em>

Fell in sitting beside him.

She had found she did not want to be alone.

Or away from him.

So she sat.

Awkwardly.

Silently.

She waited, whilst he knelt.

Eyes drifting over the hallowed, lofty interior of his church.

Whilst he prayed.

Observing his faith.

Taking in the beauty of the carved wood, and the delicate, glowing panes of coloured glass.

She told him that she was okay with his thanking God for saving her and Hodgins.

And was surprised to hear his reply.

That he had thanked God for saving all of them.

And her tears had come.

At the knowledge that he saw them as part of something.

'I knew you wouldn't give up.'

* * *

><p><em>Piece Fifteen.<em>

A 'Guy Hug.'

Came after yet another disappointment in the playing field of dating.

She was frustrated. Feeling decidedly sorry for herself.

For starters, simple coffee with a man had left her bumbling and awkward. Which annoyed her. She didn't like that she wasn't good at something.

Will had seemed such a good man. Calm and reassuring. Genuinely interested.

One amongst thousands who understood something very few other people did about her.

He had lived a similar life, orphaned with a younger sibling.

He had fought, he had stayed, been the big brother that hers had not.

And how she wondered what her life would have been like if Russ had stayed for her.

She wanted to see the world the way he did.

He had given her a lot to think about.

And Booth had Cam now. So...

They had found many things in common, music, laughter.

His gentle kiss had flipped her stomach and made her smile.

Until confusion rose at Booth's appearance. The restaurant around her fading away at his words.

'I'm sorry.'

A single tear hovering on her eyelashes, burning a pathway down her cheek, as realisation dawned.

Will had killed his own brother.

It seemed that even if you tried to do the right thing, you didn't always succeed.

And that had made her sad.

Too defeated to even hide her tears from Booth.

Feeling his pained gaze track her motions as she fled.

She had been unsurprised that he had sought her out later.

Leaning in the doorway of her office.

Tilting his head in compassion.

Talking of perceptions altered by hope and fear and love.

Seeing her in a true moment of weakness.

When she questioned everything.

That even her best wasn't good enough.

'You had no trouble seeing through me.' He had teased her.

Made her smile. Brush the tears away.

She would like to think she did see him, and for the most part she had him figured out.

But his relationship with Cam, whatever that was, had been a surprise.

'Well, it's a good thing I like being alone.' She had murmured.

Melodramatic wasn't a place she usually dwelt, but she failed to resist the urge to wallow.

'You're not alone.'

The heat of his palm had touched her back. Right between her shoulders.

Encouraging her to face him.

He held his arms out, encouraging her closer.

Charming smile, creases around his eyes.

'We're Partners. It's a guy hug.'

She was too vulnerable to resist.

'Take it.'

She had bitten her lip so hard it had bled, as his arms came around her.

She would not cry.

He was warm.

Her heart had stuttered, causing her breath to catch.

Gentle palms moving across her back.

Everything she needed, and wanted.

And it wasn't hers to claim.

She had closed her eyes against the deluge.

* * *

><p><em>Piece Sixteen.<em>

Father Toby Coulter.

Matthew Brennan.

Max Keenan.

Cryptic messages that she and her brother were in danger.

Then the truth.

Who he was now.

How could she not have seen it?

'Your Mother said, 'Just like you Max, she's just like you.'

Her Mother.

His words that not a day went by when his heart was not broken.

Hair colour, plastic surgery, coloured contact lenses, chin and cheek implants.

Fifteen years older.

Her Father.

And her brother had known for weeks.

Max had decided her brother needed him, needed help to fix his life.

Whereas she was deemed better off without him.

A wall of stalker photographs had proved her father's warnings correct.

And two men had died. One of them in her apartment. One of them the Deputy Director of the FBI.

Her father a murderer?

Who had shot a man in the head, hung him from a pole, gutted him and then set him on fire.

To protect his family?

She had hugged him tight, both out of need and fear, and something more, to delay him.

But he had told her he loved her, when she told him she couldn't let him go.

He had told her he was proud of her.

She had waited what felt like a lifetime.

Then he was gone.

Her brother whisked away with him.

She had been abandoned again.

Chained to a bench.

Her metaphorical heart in pieces.

Her father's words echoing.

'Listen, if you find somebody you can trust you hang onto them.'

And Booth had been there.

Fighting for her.

Steady for her.

'I'm your Gun. I shoot'em. You cuff them.'

His welcoming arms at the sight of blood in her apartment.

Surrendering to her tears.

'I wish you wouldn't keep letting me hug you when I get scared.'

And a promise.

'Hey, if I get scared, I'll hug you.'

Offering her a family.

In the familiar surroundings of the Diner. Words passed between them, quiet and just theirs.

'I'm just one of those people that doesn't get to be in a family.'

Turning her face away to hide her pain. Voice breaking without her permission.

Until the tender coax of his single curved finger had drawn her back to him.

'There's more than one kind of family.'

And the moment had stretched. Mesmerised.

Filled with all the hopes and desires and an aching longing.

'Your squints, my squints.'

'No, Booth, we are all of us your squints.'

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><p>To Be Continued...<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

A couple of pieces that are not quite officially canon... Piece 18 a heavier T than normal – if there is such a thing! Apologies for the delay and the slightly shorter chapter - more soon.

Thank you to those who have joined me as readers and reviewers! Special thanks to Jsboneslover, grc73, my anonymous 'Guest' Utica Sue, Phoenix Rysng, Paladin's Joy, and luvthembones for taking the time to let me know how I'm doing! Your encouragement means the World x

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><p><strong><span>Her Patchwork Heart<span>**

By Rianne

**Chapter Three.**

_Piece Seventeen._

Howard Epps had free fallen from her apartment balcony.

Letting go of Booth's frantic clasping fingers.

And yet in that moment a part of Booth had fallen too.

Not a literal part as she had kept tight hold of him.

Another kind of part.

A piece of his confidence. His strength. His bravery.

He had looked haunted.

A look she couldn't shake throughout the official questioning.

It had lingered around every breath she took.

Not allowed in the same room, her own interrogation happening in the room beside his, she had paced, her attention fixed on the mirrored glass before her.

Pacing, back and forth, back and forth, waiting for someone to come in and talk her through the events.

Knowing that Booth was somewhere behind that glass, answering his own questions.

And knowing Booth he would be wondering if he had let go.

The eternal protector of those in need.

Literal knight in shining armour.

Epps had threatened his son, threatened his Bones.

There would be fallout.

Her own questions took what felt like hours to be completed.

She had told them all she knew.

All she had felt.

This man had endangered Cam's life, killed so many young women before they had a chance at life, had nearly killed Zack and Booth, had murdered and decapitated his own wife.

There was no blame to be laid upon either Booth or herself.

She knew that.

The Agents questioning her knew that.

She had seen it in their eyes.

No, she had predicted that the fallout would be emotional.

And that frightened her.

Once she was allowed to leave she was out of the room before she had even swung her coat over her shoulders.

He had been waiting.

Sat on an uncomfortable plastic chair a few feet from the room she had been in.

Shoulders slumped.

Head low.

Palms clasped together between his open knees.

Defeated.

She had moved with care towards his solemn figure.

Her fingertips twitching to touch him and she had wavered, debating it.

Afraid to shatter the resolve.

His and her own.

He hadn't looked up until the tips of her shoes broached the field of his vision.

Expression blank, he had merely stood, swaying into her space, before rectifying his stature, then followed her from the building.

Silent.

Numb.

Resigned.

He had terrified her.

They had made it to the relative privacy of the underground parking structure, the shelter of his large SUV, before she could stand his silent pain no longer.

He reached for the car door and she had reached for him.

Her tugging capture of his wrist turning him towards her on unsteady feet.

She had stepped closer, feet sliding between his, her nearness lifting his gaze.

Blue eyes swimming with barely restrained tears, met brown aching with his own.

Unable to put into words how she felt, she had acted.

Her arms were around him mere moments before his first sob broke.

Forehead pressed to her trench coat, he buried his face into the refuge of her shoulder. Her arms looping more tightly about him, palms flat and warming across his upper back.

A single tear burning down her own cheek as she had turned her face into his hair.

Breathing in his scent.

As his arms tightened around her.

Relieved to see him taking comfort from her. Relieved it was over. Relieved he was safe.

'Hey, if I get scared, I'll hug you.'

* * *

><p><em>Piece Eighteen.<em>

Came out of the depths of sleep.

The gentle dreaming tangle of sheets, lulling her overheated skin, becoming a restrictive caress, adding to her frustration.

Slow stroking lips, dark eyes, pounding heart.

Heated mouth sliding lower.

Smooth skin arching beneath trembling fingertips.

An open mouthed caress to where she was most defenceless.

Shivers gliding, curving her spine and spreading warmth.

Intimate stroking friction, deep panting breathlessness.

That was good enough to induce toe curling sweetness.

Her muscles drawing tight as the delicious waves crested.

Gasping awake as the ebbing tension dimmed.

His name almost on her lips.

Blinking dazed into the empty darkness.

Alone.

Momentarily stunned.

Swaying there.

Peeling the strands of hair from her moisture beaded skin.

Before turning her face into the pillow, hiding from her own confusion and embarrassment.

Heartbeat still thundering in her ears.

Pressing her thighs together to cradle the lingering tremors.

Her own body.

Her own betraying brain.

Conjuring up its own slightly blurred reality.

She couldn't look at him without blushing for the first hour of the day.

Unfortunate in an interrogation.

Had to lie and say she felt unwell, which only provoked his protective instincts.

And when purposely elusive in her symptoms he brought her the sweet tea she liked, and a bar of chocolate.

Mistaking her lusty hormones for those of menstruation.

A completely natural process she had no embarrassment about of course.

And one which she knew made him flip out... or freak out... or some phrase Angela used to mean he was awkward, either way.

She reciprocated his kindness by berating him with a nicely prepared speech about women having dealt with these natural biological occurrences for millennia and how dare he think she needed special treatment.

And yes, her guilty conscious had fuelled most of her newly found rage, but he did not need to know this.

Or how much she had stewed over her own inability to avoid how her body had chosen to recognise his well structured form.

His wide set shoulders, his strong jaw line, and his large hands.

He was a male that she was close to. Spent a lot of her time with. It was natural to project.

She also did not need to stare so intensely at his lips as he stuttered his genuinely confused apology.

She was awake now; she needed to show more restraint.

But putting everything in its rational compartment she could also see that there was no way to stop herself from thinking this way about him when she was unconscious.

She should not feel guilty.

It had just been awhile since she had intercourse.

She needed to find herself a mate.

That was all.

To Be Continued...


End file.
